The Sofa Surfer
by Nyx6
Summary: A missing scene for 4x11. Where was Mike when Rachel went to her parents' house for dinner? The answer? Crashed out in Harvey's office. Just a cute little bromance-centric one-shot.


My missing scene for 4x11 'Enough is Enough'; or rather an answer to the question, 'why did Rachel go to her parents' house for dinner on her own?' In other words, where was Mike?

Enjoy.

* * *

The last few reams of Louis' paperwork get finished at approximately ten past five. At twelve minutes past Mike hand delivers them – although fortunately the man himself isn't in and given their newly strained working relationship Mike considers this a move for the best.

By sixteen minutes past he turns to stumble towards Harvey's office and as the minute hand hits seventeen exactly he shuffles heavily across the threshold; turning and heading straight for the couch.

Harvey is sitting at the end of his conference table with papers fanned around him in piles. At some point he has removed his jacket which hangs over the ergonomic by his desk. He looks up briefly at his staggering visitor but quickly refocuses his attentions,

"You finish all of Louis' work?"

"Mmmm," Mike mumbles toppling forward and landing chest-first against the cushions. His forearms pillow his weary skull, "I dotted the t's and crossed the i's – no, wait, the other way round. Holy crap this feels amazing."

Harvey lifts an amused-looking brow,

"Are you drunk?"

" _No_ ," Mike slurs back, "Well okay, a little. I _have_ hardly eaten in the last two days."

"How many glasses of champagne did you have?"

"Two, three, I don't know Harvey – it was free. Besides, who wants to see good champagne go to waste?"

Harvey snorts,

"You think Jessica would break open the good stuff for _Louis_?"

"Maybe not," Mike shrugs, "But it tasted good."

"To someone who lives on Red Bull it probably would."

The response is an off-key grunt from the leather; part expression, part exhalation. If it's supposed to resemble speech then it's failed but when Harvey looks up it's obvious why. Mike is face-down against the cushions, his head buried into the crook of his elbow. The only part of his skull that is visible is the spikey blonde hair which is messily tousled and the tips of his ears which are a drunk-shade of pink. The rest of him is sprawled out lengthways although he doesn't fit perfectly onto the sofa and as a result his feet hang off the armrest – at least until he kicks off his shoes. Harvey watches him discreetly, a half-smile forming across his lips,

"Make yourself comfy," he comments dryly but if Mike hears the sarcasm then he doesn't respond to it; simply turning himself over and snuggling down.

"Oh that's good."

He sounds exhausted.

In the premature darkness of the winter evening the building seems unusually hushed and coupled with the light from the single yellow lampstand – which guards the far corner of Harvey's office – there is a certain sense of quiet contentment. Louis' soiree is a long distant memory – as is his prolonged torment of Mike – but it's clear to see that the damage has been done which is why, when Mike's breathing starts to deepen, Harvey stays quiet and stops rustling his papers. It's also why Donna – leaving early for yoga – tiptoes into the room with a smile and hands across his last messages silently and it's also why, by the time Rachel gets there, her boyfriend is covered with a Tom Ford jacket.

"Hey Harvey, have you seen Mike – ," she stops as he glances towards the couch and blinks in surprise at the sight that she sees,

"Oh," she whispers, smiling fondly.

Her eyes trace from Mike and the jacket draped over him to the fearsome lawyer who is sat in one corner, pretending as ever to be hard at work but positioned in perfect sight of the couch. Part of her wishes she had a camera; the entire tableau is picture-worthy.

In fact as far as she can see there is only one problem.

"We're due at my parents for dinner in an hour."

They both glance across at the slumbering associate; shadowed by the deep inky blue of the room. In the half-light of the early evening the office looks even bigger than usual and the lights from the buildings across the street twinkle in the distance like Christmas tree lights. Harvey looks back at her,

"You really want to take him like _this_?"

Rachel pauses and looks at her watch,

"I guess I can always phone and reschedule,"

"Go," says Harvey; eyes still on his brief, "See your parents."

"But what about Mike?"

"I'll drive him home once I've finished up here."

Rachel blinks,

"You'd seriously do that?"

Harvey looks up from a stack of paperwork. His face is shadowed but Rachel suspects that the expression would be unreadable even in daylight. She knows what it means though; those tightly drawn lips. Harvey is offended by her belief in his callousness. Just because he pretends not to give a damn it doesn't mean he actually _does_ and one of the things that he thinks she should know by now is that one of the few in his circle is Mike.

"Okay," Rachel nods, her brown eyes softening, "Thank you Harvey."

"Send your father my regards,"

She pauses in the doorway, smiling impishly,

"Absolutely. It will be the first thing I say to him."

Harvey snorts but remains at his paperwork; Rachel steals a last glance at Mike.

When he wakes up she has already been gone for an hour and a half. It is half past seven and the world outside is no longer blue but solid black. Most of the office lights on the other side of the street are now out; their occupants safely tucked up at home save for a brave few still chained to their laptops.

He lets out a long sigh and twists himself slightly, turning his shoulders and feeling the stiffness that signals he has been sleeping in an awkward position.

His chest and cheeks feel like they are on fire and he realises he has woken because he is hot. His head feels like it's holding a bowling ball and it takes more effort than he expects to lift it up. As he shifts something slips from his back and the familiarity of the aftershave tells him that it's Harvey's jacket. Without it he suddenly feels icy cold and it is while he is negotiating this minefield of homeostasis issues that the jacket's owner decides to speak,

"I thought you were going to sleep through the night,"

"Huh?" Mike blinks, "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty,"

"In the morning?"

Harvey has at some point moved to his desk which means – when he throws Mike an unimpressed glare – that the associate is close enough to read his expression,

"Yes genius, seven thirty in the morning. While you were sleeping a meteor came over and blocked out the sun. We're all going to die."

Mike squints back at him,

"We're all going to – what?"

"Seven thirty _at night_ ," Harvey clarifies; then just for good measure, "Time to go home."

Realisation hits Mike like a thunderbolt, or something slower but just as hard; an iceberg maybe, or a really big turtle.

"Oh god, Rachel's parents," he throws back the jacket, trying to turn himself on the leather and nearly succeeding in rolling straight off. He fumbles around on the floor for his shoes, checking his watch just to add to his torment, "Oh god, I'm so late. I need to find Rachel. She's going to be pissed."

Harvey watches him fret with a half-smirk,

"Mike," he offers; it has no effect, " _Mike_ ,"

"What?"

"Rachel left an hour ago,"

"Oh no, oh god. Did she look mad?"

Mike continues to fumble his shoelaces; consistently pulling the loop right through. By the time he's done he'll have to cut himself loose again and the whole process looks so entirely painful that Harvey debates stepping in to assist.

"Mike – ,"

He stops when he is hit by a memory; Marcus crying at four years old because he can't tie his own shoes and Harvey can. It reminds him of Louis' snide remark earlier. _Now that big brother is here..._

Brothers.

It's an analogy he's used himself although he struggles to remember when he and Mike became family. He's not even sure when they became _friends_. Was it when his grandmother died? Or was it even earlier than that?

Over by the couch Mike stands up then quickly regrets it as stars crowd his vision,

"Whoa,"

He sits down again heavily and Harvey snorts,

"Do you honestly think that Rachel would be mad at you? Louis has been riding your ass for the last thirty-six hours. The only surprise is that you didn't pass out sooner. Champagne or no champagne."

"Uh," Mike groans and wrinkles his nose, "Can you please not say _Louis_ and _riding your ass_ in the same sentence? I'm still feeling kind of delicate."

"Too delicate to eat at Alessandro's?"

Mike looks up; his stomach rumbles,

"Alessandro's?"

"Yep."

"With you?"

" _No_ ," Harvey throws back, wide-eyed with sarcasm, "I was going to set you up with the Pope. He's in town for a couple of days. Maybe you've seen him? He drives this weird car with a big glass – ,"

"Okay, okay," sometimes Mike misses snarky goofball Harvey but today is definitely not one of those days, "I _meant_ what about Rachel's parents?"

Harvey stands up, flipping off his desk lamp. Abruptly half the office darkens.

"What about them? They're probably on the flan by now."

"Um, _flan_?"

Harvey shrugs,

"Yeah, I figure that what Robert goes for. You think it's going to be better than it is – like him."

"Hey," Mike frowns a little half-heartedly. He's sat back down on the Tom Ford jacket and tugs it loose hoping Harvey won't notice, "You realise you're talking about Rachel's father and _my_ potential father- _in-law_? Besides, no way is he a _flan_."

"You have a better suggestion?"

"Cheesecake,"

" _Cheesecake_?"

"What? It's perfect. Think about it Harvey. It's rich, it's heavy but you wouldn't want it every night. _That's_ Robert Zane."

Harvey quirks an eyebrow,

"Are you calling him fat?"

"No, I said _heavy_ ," Mike retorts as Harvey crosses the office and scoops up his jacket. He flaps it once then frowns at the creases. Wisely Mike chooses to deflect his attentions, "What about Louis? What would he be?"

"Stewed prunes,"

The answer is instantaneous and it makes Mike laugh which, by extension, is mirrored on Harvey.

"What about Jessica?"

"Come on, dinner," Harvey chides, slapping his associate across the shoulder and gesturing impatiently for him to stand up, "Alessandro's, my treat, _no_ champagne."

"Champagne," Mike snorts wearily, he barely notices Harvey's guiding hand which hovers near his elbow as he climbs to his feet, "What would we even be celebrating anyway? Louis getting his name on the door?"

" _No_ , we would be celebrating Jessica handing him his ass."

"Um, didn't we talk about Louis' ass already?" Mike winces before pausing and offering a smirk, "She kind of did though, didn't she?"

"She's Jessica."

Harvey swings the office door open, letting Mike out ahead of him and then turning back to flip out the lamp. With the room newly shrouded in darkness the working day is finally over and – as working days in the law world go – it has been a hard one; no mistake.

Mike is waiting for him beside Donna's cubicle and as Harvey draws level they share a look,

"Devil's food cake," they chime as one.

 _Yep, that's Jessica._ Both of them grin.

"What about Donna?"

It is a question which occupies them right throughout dinner and the reason why – the very next morning – both men refer to her as 'Red Velvet.'


End file.
